OxonWoods Man

Tag: Cunnilingus

  • Her Light on X

    On X’s wild stage, he found her light,
    A spark of her, both bold and shy,
    Her words, her frames, they stole his sight,
    A sensual soul beneath the sky.
    She doubts her form, her face, her grace,
    Yet through her posts, he sees her truth,
    Each line she shares, each tender trace,
    Reveals a beauty born of truth.

    That image haunts, black bra, black lace,
    She leans to view, a gift unfurled,
    The cups pulled low, her breasts embrace,
    Fantastic curves that shift his world.
    She calls them flawed, unsure, unwell,
    But he deems them perfection’s art,
    A vision where his heart would dwell,
    A marvel carved by life’s own heart.

    Her thighs, they call, a silken plea,
    Inviting fingers to explore,
    Their fullness stirs a need in he,
    A touch he’s dreamed of, and much more.
    Her knickers hug her mound so tight,
    A tease of secrets held within,
    He ponders joys in that delight,
    What pleasures bloom beneath her skin.

    Her face, she claims, feels out of place,
    Awkwardness she’s learned to scorn,
    Yet X has shown, in every space,
    A chorus lifts where doubt was born.
    “They say her eyes are stars,” he hears,
    “Her smile’s a dawn,” they softly sing,
    He nods, her features banish fears,
    An art, a queen, a sacred thing.

    He’d start with her, so slow, so sure,
    Undressing her with reverent care,
    Her lovely neck, a path so pure,
    He’d kiss and linger, warm and bare.
    Downward then, his lips would roam,
    Past breasts that rise, past mound’s sweet swell,
    To legs he’d trace, his hands a home,
    Exploring all her form would tell.

    Outside her thighs, his fingers glide,
    A tender map of flesh and grace,
    His mouth would follow, side by side,
    Each inch a shrine, a cherished place.
    Upward then, her legs would part,
    An invitation, soft and free,
    He’d answer with his beating heart,
    To show the want she stirs in he.

    First fingers, gentle, seek her core,
    A dance of touch, a slow caress,
    Then mouth descends, to taste, adore,
    Her warmth, her wet, a sweet excess.
    His tongue would weave, his lips would play,
    Each sigh she gives, his guiding star,
    He’d worship her in every way,
    To prove how perfect that they are.

    Their bodies then would slowly meld,
    His cock would glide, a tender fit,
    In her, his love, his soul compelled,
    A fire where their passions lit.
    They’d move as one, a rhythm sweet,
    Her thighs around him, tight, alive,
    Each thrust a vow, each breath complete,
    A union where their spirits thrive.

    She doubts her shell, her mirrored gaze,
    But he sees all, her soul, her skin,
    Perfection lies in all her ways,
    A beauty fierce, a glow within.
    On X she blooms, and he’s her muse,
    Entranced by every post she shares,
    His heart, it knows it can’t refuse,
    A woman wondrous, bold, and rare.

    These verses sing his heartfelt plea,
    Of her, his dawn, his muse, his night,
    Her body, face, her sensuality,
    Are treasures bathed in purest light.
    No flaw he sees, no fault to mend,
    Just her, unveiled, a perfect sight,
    Their passion’s start, its blissful end,
    A love ignited, burning bright.

  • Ode to Cunnilingus

    Slow Tease

    She craves the start with whispers soft and slow,
    A gentle kiss that lands below her line,
    A breath that warms before the lips bestow,
    A pause to let her senses intertwine.
    The tip of tongue, a fleeting, tender graze,
    Builds tension in her arching, quivering frame,
    A rhythm stalled to set her nerves ablaze,
    Anticipation fuels her lover’s game.
    Each moment stretched, a torture sweet and fine,
    Her skin alive with every hinted trace,
    A sigh escapes, a signal to divine,
    The wait itself becomes her warm embrace.

    Deep Dive

    She yearns for depth, a plunge that knows no bounds,
    A fearless mouth that claims her whole desire,
    No timid touch, but hunger that surrounds,
    A swirling force that sets her core afire.
    Each stroke is bold, unyielding in its quest,
    To find the pulse that drives her wild and free,
    A conquest deep, where passion’s fully pressed,
    Her moans declare sweet victory.
    The dive consumes, a torrent unrestrained,
    Her body bends to meet the forceful claim,
    A union fierce, where nothing is retained,
    Her cries resound, unbridled by the shame.
    The depths she loves are endless, dark, and vast,
    A place where pleasure’s echo lingers long,
    A storm that holds her till the very last,
    Her trembling form sings rapture’s primal song.

    Feather Flick

    A lighter touch is what she sometimes seeks,
    A flicker soft as feathers on her skin,
    The tip that dances, teases as it speaks,
    A playful game where patience wears her thin.
    Each subtle lap ignites a trembling spark,
    A shiver born from delicacy’s embrace,
    A fleeting brush to light the waiting dark,
    Her sighs confess the thrill of such a pace.
    The air grows thick with every tender pass,
    A whisper-touch that promises much more,
    Her hips respond, a ripple through the grass,
    A quiet storm she cannot quite ignore.

    Steady Pulse

    She loves the beat, a rhythm strong and true,
    A constant hum that holds her in its sway,
    No rush, no break, just pressure pushing through,
    A metronome to guide her all the way.
    Each circle drawn with purpose, firm and sure,
    A tempo set to match her rising tide,
    The cadence builds what she cannot endure,
    Till waves of bliss crash hard on every side.
    It’s steady like the heartbeat of the earth,
    A grounding force that anchors all her need,
    Each pulse a gift, a moment of rebirth,
    Her body sways to rhythm’s primal creed.
    The drumbeat holds her, never letting go,
    A march toward ecstasy’s release,
    Her breath aligns, a synchronized flow,
    The steady tide brings her to peace.

    Edge Play

    She thrills at borders, teasing near the peak,
    A hover there, denying full release,
    A tongue that knows just when to pull back, weak,
    To make her beg for pleasure’s sweet increase.
    The brink becomes her lover’s cruel delight,
    A dance of almosts, trembling in her thighs,
    Each near-miss sharpens craving in the night,
    Her gasps are gifts beneath the taunting skies.
    The game is power, balanced on a thread,
    A push and pull that leaves her voice undone,
    Each pause a blade that carves inside her head,
    The tension coils, a battle yet unwon.
    She loves the ache, the torture of delay,
    A precipice where want and will collide,
    Her pleas grow loud, a wild, unscripted play,
    Till mercy falls and sweeps her with the tide.

    Warm Bath

    She melts beneath a mouth that’s soft and wet,
    A liquid warmth that soothes her every nerve,
    A flow of heat where tenderness is met,
    A gentle lap her contours long to serve.
    The slick caress envelopes all she feels,
    A tide that rises slow and full of care,
    A balm that heals as much as it reveals,
    Her softness blooms in humid, heavy air.
    It’s comfort first, a bath of sweet repose,
    A haven where her tensions slip away,
    Each wave a kiss that lingers as it grows,
    A warmth that holds her in its tender sway.

    Wild Storm

    She craves the chaos, fierce and uncontrolled,
    A tempest born of lips and tongue untamed,
    A rush that grips her, reckless, sharp, and bold,
    A fury where her wildness is unclaimed.
    It’s fast and rough, a whirlwind on her skin,
    A clash of heat that shatters all her poise,
    Her body bucks, surrendering to the din,
    A primal roar within the storm’s loud noise.
    The madness pulls her to a feral place,
    A lightning strike in every jagged lick,
    Her screams erupt, unbridled in their grace,
    The tempest leaves her breathless, raw, and quick.

    Sweet Nibble

    She delights in teeth, a graze against her core,
    A nip so light it teases more than hurts,
    A playful bite that leaves her wanting more,
    A spark that flares where gentleness converts.
    The edge of pain becomes a lover’s jest,
    A contrast sharp against the softer play,
    Each tiny tug ignites her tender crest,
    Her laughter blends with moans along the way.
    It’s mischief wrapped in pleasure’s warm disguise,
    A daring twist that keeps her on her toes,
    The nibble wakes the fire in her eyes,
    A secret thrill her body gladly knows.

    Humming Song

    She loves the buzz, a murmur on her skin,
    A vibration low that resonates within,
    A hum that starts where tender folds begin,
    A melody that pulls her to its spin.
    The sound ignites a tremor deep and wide,
    A chord that thrums against her fragile gate,
    Her hips align, caught up in music’s tide,
    A song of bliss she cannot help but sate.
    The tone grows strong, a hymn of pure delight,
    A resonance that fills her every space,
    Her voice joins in, a duet in the night,
    The harmony ascends at fevered pace.

    Ice Kiss

    She craves the chill, a cold surprise to wake,
    An icy tongue that shocks her heated bloom,
    A contrast stark that makes her body quake,
    A shiver born from frost within the gloom.
    The coolness melts against her burning need,
    A dance of ice and fire in sweet accord,
    Each frigid lap a tantalizing deed,
    Her gasps confess the thrill she can’t ignore.
    The cold retreats, then strikes again anew,
    A game of chill that keeps her senses keen,
    Her skin alight, a paradox in view,
    A frozen kiss where warmth has intervened.

    Whispered Word

    She hungers for the voice that weaves a spell,
    A murmured praise against her tender place,
    Each word a thread that makes her body swell,
    A story told in breath upon her grace.
    The tongue may dance, but words ignite her mind,
    A sultry tale of worship and of want,
    Her thoughts entwine where flesh and sound align,
    A verbal kiss, her deepest, sweetest haunt.
    The whispers build, a cadence soft and low,
    A promise hummed where silence used to reign,
    Her pulse responds, a river set to flow,
    The power lies in language’s warm refrain.

    Full Feast

    She longs for all, a banquet without end,
    A mouth that covers every inch it finds,
    No part ignored, no boundary to defend,
    A feast where hunger breaks the ties that bind.
    Each fold, each curve, a morsel to devour,
    A greedy claim that leaves no space untouched,
    Her body writhes beneath the endless power,
    A gluttony of bliss her frame has clutched.
    The breadth of it consumes her whole design,
    A lavish spread where pleasure knows no cease,
    Her cries ascend, a testament divine,
    The fullness grants her spirit’s wild release.

    Gentle Tide

    She seeks the calm, a lapping soft and sure,
    A tide that ebbs and flows with quiet grace,
    No rush to chase, just peace she can’t ignore,
    A soothing balm that holds her in its space.
    Each wave is light, a ripple on the shore,
    A tender kiss that builds without a strain,
    Her breath grows deep, a rhythm to restore,
    The gentle tide dissolves her every pain.
    It’s slow and kind, a lover’s softest art,
    A current warm that cradles all her care,
    Her body floats, unburdened at its heart,
    A tranquil sea where tension isn’t there.

    The Surprise Twist

    She loves the shock, a turn she didn’t see,
    A sudden shift from patterns she’d expect,
    A flick offbeat, a move that sets her free,
    A jolt that wakes what comfort might neglect.
    The twist arrives, a rogue within the play,
    A spark that catches fire in her veins,
    Her laughter leaps, then melts into a sway,
    The unexpected breaks her sweet refrains.
    It’s daring, fresh, a break from all routine,
    A curve that keeps her guessing every time,
    Her body hums, alive within the scene,
    The thrill of new becomes her steepest climb.

    Sacred Pause

    She treasures stops, the stillness in between,
    A breath held long where silence speaks aloud,
    A rest that lets her feel what’s truly been,
    A reverence within the passion’s shroud.
    The pause is holy, sacred in its weight,
    A moment where her soul can catch its flight,
    Each halt a gift, a chance to contemplate,
    Her trembling form bathed soft in afterlight.
    It’s not the rush, but quiet that she craves,
    A space to feel the echoes of her bliss,
    The stillness holds her like a lover saves,
    A tender end sealed with a final kiss.